Ok To Be Sad Quotes

I remember watching the mascara tears flood the ivories and I thought, "It's OK to be sad." I've been trained to love my darkness.

Thought I couldn't live without you It's gonna hurt when it heals too Even though I really love you I'm gonna smile cause I deserve to Quickly I'm learning to love again All I know is I'mma be ok

It's OK not to be OK.

I'm never overwhelmed or under it either; just nicely whelmed. I'm OK. Nothing spectacular but sometimes special. I look in the mirror and see this medium average person. A little tired, a little sad, but not falling apart.

And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.

there are many reasons to be sad. u may be sad because u feel alone. the comforting thing abot feeling lonely is that every thing that has ever existed also knows what loneliness feels like too. u may be sad because u are sad. it is ok to be sad but if u are sad because happiness is fleeting, just remember that sadness is also fleeting too.

Grief is visceral, not reasonable: the howling at the center of grief is raw and real. It is love in its most wild form.

It's still ok to dream with a broken heart.

When someone you love dies, you don't just lose them in the present or in the past. You lose the future you should have had, and might have had, with them. They are missing from all the life that was to be.

You’re lonely,” they say, but it doesn’t scare me anymore for it teaches me, and maybe that’s the biggest win from these years: I don’t need anyone else to distract me from myself anymore, like I always thought I would. I don’t break mirrors anymore, like I always thought I would. I can finally stand myself, and I never thought I would.

Rosie, I'm returning to Boston tomorrow but before I go I wanted to write this letter to you. All the thoughts and feelings that have been bubbling up inside me are finally overflowing from this pen and I'm leaving this letter for you so that you don't feel that I'm putting you under any great pressure. I understand that you will need to take your time trying to decide on what I am about to say. I no what's going on, Rosie. You're my best friend and I can see the sadness in your eyes. I no that Greg isn't away working for the weekend. You never could lie to me; you were always terrible at it. Your eyes betray you time and time again. Don't pretend that everything is perfect because I see it isn't. I see that Greg is a selfish man who has absolutely no idea just how lucky he is and it makes me sick. He is the luckiest man in the world to have you, Rosie, but he doesn't deserve you and you deserve far better. You deserve someone who loves you with every single beat of his heart, someone who thinks about you constantly, someone who spends every minute of every day just wondering what you're doing, where you are, who you're with and if you're OK. You need someone who can help you reach your dreams and who can protect you from your fears. You need someone who will treat you with respect, love every part of you, especially your flaws. You should be with someone who can make you happy, really happy, dancing-on-air happy. Someone who should have taken the chance to be with you years ago instead of becoming scared and being too afraid to try. I am not scared any more, Rosie. I am not afraid to try. I no what the feeling was at your wedding - it was jealousy. My heart broke when I saw the woman I love turning away from me to walk down the aisle with another man, a man she planned to spend the rest of her life with. It was like a prison sentence for me - years stretching ahead without me being able to tell you how I feel or hold you how I wanted to. Twice we've stood beside each other at the altar, Rosie. Twice. And twice we got it wrong. I needed you to be there for my wedding day but I was too stupid to see that I needed you to be the reason for my wedding day. I should never have let your lips leave mine all those years ago in Boston. I should never have pulled away. I should never have panicked. I should never have wasted all those years without you. Give me a chance to make them up to you. I love you, Rosie, and I want to be with you and Katie and Josh. Always. Please think about it. Don't waste your time on Greg. This is our opportunity. Let's stop being afraid and take the chance. I promise I'll make you happy. All my love, Alex

To the most inconsiderate asshole of a friend, I’m writing you this letter because I know that if I say what I have to say to your face I will probably punch you. I don’t know you anymore. I don’t see you anymore. All I get is a quick text or a rushed e-mail from you every few days. I know you are busy and I know you have Bethany, but hello? I’m supposed to be your best friend. You have no idea what this summer has been like. Ever since we were kids we pushed away every single person that could possibly have been our friend. We blocked people until there was only me and you. You probably haven’t noticed, because you have never been in the position I am in now. You have always had someone. You always had me. I always had you. Now you have Bethany and I have no one. Now I feel like those other people that used to try to become our friend, that tried to push their way into our circle but were met by turned backs. I know you’re probably not doing it deliberately just as we never did it deliberately. It’s not that we didn’t want anyone else, it’s just that we didn’t need them. Sadly now it looks like you don’t need me anymore. Anyway I’m not moaning on about how much I hate her, I’m just trying to tell you that I miss you. And that well . . . I’m lonely. Whenever you cancel nights out I end up staying home with Mum and Dad watching TV. It’s so depressing. This was supposed to be our summer of fun. What happened? Can’t you be friends with two people at once? I know you have found someone who is extra special, and I know you both have a special “bond,” or whatever, that you and I will never have. But we have another bond, we’re best friends. Or does the best friend bond disappear as soon as you meet somebody else? Maybe it does, maybe I just don’t understand that because I haven’t met that “somebody special.” I’m not in any hurry to, either. I liked things the way they were. So maybe Bethany is now your best friend and I have been relegated to just being your “friend.” At least be that to me, Alex. In a few years time if my name ever comes up you will probably say, “Rosie, now there’s a name I haven’t heard in years. We used to be best friends. I wonder what she’s doingnow; I haven’t seen or thought of her in years!” You will sound like my mum and dad when they have dinner parties with friends and talk about old times. They always mention people I’ve never even heard of when they’re talking about some of the most important days of their lives. Yet where are those people now? How could someone who was your bridesmaid 20 years ago not even be someone who you are on talking terms with now? Or in Dad’s case, how could he not know where his own best friend from college lives? He studied with the man for five years! Anyway, my point is (I know, I know, there is one), I don’t want to be one of those easily forgotten people, so important at the time, so special, so influential, and so treasured, yet years later just a vague face and a distant memory. I want us to be best friends forever, Alex. I’m happy you’re happy, really I am, but I feel like I’ve been left behind. Maybe our time has come and gone. Maybe your time is now meant to be spent with Bethany. And if that’s the case I won’t bother sending you this letter. And if I’m not sending this letter then what am I doing still writing it? OK I’m going now and I’m ripping these muddled thoughts up. Your friend, Rosie

I am part of everyone I ever dated on OK Cupid.

Am I OK? I'm lots of things. I'm lonely, I'm tired, I'm sad, I'm happy, I'm lucky, I'm unlucky; I'm a million different things every day of the week. But I suppose OK is one of them.

If you can't tell your story to another human, find another way: journal, paint, make your grief into a graphic novel with a very dark storyline. Or go out to the woods and tell the trees. It is an immense relief to be able to tell your story without someone trying to fix it. The trees will not ask, "How are you really?" and the wind doesn't care if you cry.

So much wanting and longing, clutching, desiring, passion and hatred and terrible need. Here, death was suitable, there was room for it, the grip of life's relentless urges slackened, replaced by this icy simplicity. This wasnt her death. It was his. That was the sad and honest truth. Though it would stay with her, it would be more like a black onyx heart on a silver chain, worn privately, under her clothes, close to her body, all her life. The guilt, the beauty, everything. It wasnt over, it had only begun. Well ok then, Okay.

What we need to remember -- as a working practice -- is to honor all griefs. Honor all losses, small and not small. Life changing and moment changing. And then, not to compare them. That all people experience pain is not medicine for anything.

you wake up wondering if you want to move or not, you probably don't and when someone asks you " are you ok?" you just walk off wanting to die any second but you don't so the pain just gets worse and worse.

My body is not my enemy. It just overreacts to things sometimes and that's actually OK.

It's ok. You don't have to be strong all the time. You don't have to ignore your sadness and pretend like you are doing absolutely fine.

When I'm depressed I'll lie to myself to make me feel better. But really, it's ok, because depression only sometimes gets the best of me.

It's a world where people think it's OK to hide behind their screens and their usernames and say poisonous things about a person they don't even know. [...] So, next time you go to post a comment or an update or share a link, ask yourself: is this going to add to the happiness in the world? And if the answer's no, then please delete. There's enough sadness in the world already. You don't need to add to it.

We've got this idea that there are only two options in grief: you're either going to be stuck in your pain, doomed to spend the rest of your life rocking in a corner in your basement wearing sackcloth, or you're going to triumph over grief, be transformed, and come back even better than you were before. Just two options. On, off. Eternally broken or completely healed. It doesn't seem to matter that nothing else in life is like that. Somehow when it comes to grief, the entire breadth of human experience goes out the window.

Grief is not an enlightenment program for a select few. No one needs intense, life-changing, loss to become whoever they are "meant" to be. The universe is not causal in that way: you need to become something, so life gives you this horrible experience in order to make it happen.

Things like "Everything happens for a reason" and "You'll become a stronger/kinder/more compassionate person because of this" brings out rage in grieving people. Nothing makes a person angrier than when they know they're being insulted but can't figure out how. It's not just erasing your current pain that makes words of comfort land so badly. There's a hidden subtext in those statements about becoming a better, kinder, and more compassionate because of your loss, that often-used phrase about knowing what's "truly important in life" now that you've learned how quickly life can change. The unspoken second half of the sentence in this case says you needed this somehow. It says that you weren't aware of what was important in life before this happened. It says that you weren't kind, compassionate, or aware enough in your life before this happened. That you needed this experience in order to develop or grow, that you needed this lesson in order to step into your "true path" in life. As though loss and hardship were the only ways to grow as a human being. As though pain were the only doorway to a better, deeper life, the only way to be truly compassionate and kind.

It's OK to feel sad, cry, be who you are. If you are happy smile. If you are sad, cry. This is the beauty of life. Allow yourself to feel it

Sad Mad Tired Grouchy Frustrated Those are not dwarves. They are feelings, OK? They are like nickels and quarters jangling, jangling, jangling buying me time on Mrs. B’s computer.

Every tear is washing away an old memory that hurts. It’s ok this is how we let go.

Mindfulness meditation encourages us to become more patient and compassionate with ourselves and to cultivate open-mindedness and gentle persistence. These qualities help free us from the gravitational pull of anxiety, stress and unhappiness by reminding us what science has shown: that it’s OK to stop treating sadness and other difficulties as problems that need to be solved.

When she woke up crying for one of her nightmares, the Kolker would stay with her, brush her hair with his hands, collect her tears in thimbles for her to drink the next morning (The only way to overcome sadness is to consume it, he said), and more than that: once her eyes closed and she fell back asleep, he was left to bear the insomnia. There was a complete transfer, like a speeding billiard ball colliding with a resting one. Should Brod feel depressed - she was always depressed - the Kolker would sit with her until he could convince her that it’s OK. It is. Really. And when she would move on with her day, he would stay behind, paralysed with a grief he couldn’t name and that wasn’t his. Should Brod become sick, it was the Kolker that would be bedridden by week’s end. Should Brod feel bored, knowing too many languages, too many facts, with too much knowledge to be happy, the Kolker would stay up all night studying her books, studying the pictures, so the next day he could try to make the kind of small talk that would please his young wife.

never be sad abot the past. it has alredy hapened and you canot change it. instead, focus on wat truly matters: being sad abot the future. there are many reasons to be sad. u may be sad becuase u feel alone. the comforting thing abot feeling lonely is that evrey thing that has ever existed also knows what loneliness feels like too. u may be sad becuase u are sad. it is ok to be sad. but if you are sad becuase happiness is fleeting, just remember that sadness is also fleeting too. when u are sad, it is ok to let urself be sad. that is ok. evjoy ur sadness. one day even ur sadness will be over too soon

All those encouragements from others about having so much to live for, that there's still goodness to come in your life --- they feel irrelevant. They kind of are irrelevant. You can't cheerlead yourself out of the depths of grief.

The thing that I was experiencing and dwelling on the entire time is that there are so many things that are not OK and that will never be OK again. But there’s also so many things that are OK and good that sometimes it makes you crumple over with being alive. We are allowed such an insane depth of beauty and enjoyment in this lifetime. It’s what my dad talks about sometimes. He says the only way that he knows there’s a God is that there’s so much gratuitous joy in this life. And that’s his only proof. There’s so many joys that do not assist in the propagation of the race or self-preservation. There’s no point whatsoever. They are so excessively, mind-bogglingly joy-producing that they distract from the very functions that are supposed to promote human life. They can leave you stupefied, monastic, not productive in any way, shape or form. And those joys are there and they are unflagging and they are ever-growing. And still there are these things that you will never be able to feel OK about–unbearably awful, sad, ugly, unfair things.

What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you? And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up and you're OK? I'm falling to pieces

This is important to point out in a women's magazine, as advice to the readers: OK, so rape is sad, but please don't wail, ladies. It's not dignified. Well, fuck you.

It is OK not to be OK..It is ok to be tired, angry & sad..Then we reflect & decide to rise like a Phoenix!

Seriously, it's ok to be sad, but if you let sadness control your life, you'll never have one

You showed me that when something is really shit, it's ok to be sad. It's not a disease you have to cure. You can just... be sad.

Like, if I suggested to a school friend we do something, she could say, 'Sorry, I don't have any money'. Which is something I could never say if the situation was reversed. If I said "I don't have any money', it would really mean "I don't have any money'. It's sad. Like, if a pretty girl says "I look terrible today, I don't want to go out,' that's OK, but if an ugly girl says the same thing people laugh at her. That's what the world was like for me.

Instructions for Dad. I don't want to go into a fridge at an undertaker's. I want you to keep me at home until the funeral. Please can someone sit with me in case I got lonely? I promise not to scare you. I want to be buried in my butterfly dress, my lilac bra and knicker set and my black zip boots (all still in the suitcase that I packed for Sicily). I also want to wear the bracelet Adam gave me. Don't put make-up on me. It looks stupid on dead people. I do NOT want to be cremated. Cremations pollute the atmosphere with dioxins,k hydrochloric acid, hydrofluoric acid, sulphur dioxide and carbon dioxide. They also have those spooky curtains in crematoriums. I want a biodegradable willow coffin and a woodland burial. The people at the Natural Death Centre helped me pick a site not for from where we live, and they'll help you with all the arrangements. I want a native tree planted on or near my grave. I'd like an oak, but I don't mind a sweet chestnut or even a willow. I want a wooden plaque with my name on. I want wild plants and flowers growing on my grave. I want the service to be simple. Tell Zoey to bring Lauren (if she's born by then). Invite Philippa and her husband Andy (if he wants to come), also James from the hospital (though he might be busy). I don't want anyone who doesn't know my saying anything about me. THe Natural Death Centre people will stay with you, but should also stay out of it. I want the people I love to get up and speak about me, and even if you cry it'll be OK. I want you to say honest things. Say I was a monster if you like, say how I made you all run around after me. If you can think of anything good, say that too! Write it down first, because apparently people often forget what they mean to say at funerals. Don't under any circumstances read that poem by Auden. It's been done to death (ha, ha) and it's too sad. Get someone to read Sonnet 12 by Shakespeare. Music- "Blackbird" by the Beatles. "Plainsong" by The Cure. "Live Like You Were Dying" by Tim McGraw. "All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands" by Sufian Stevens. There may not be time for all of them, but make sure you play the last one. Zoey helped me choose them and she's got them all on her iPod (it's got speakers if you need to borrow it). Afterwards, go to a pub for lunch. I've got £260 in my savings account and I really want you to use it for that. Really, I mean it-lunch is on me. Make sure you have pudding-sticky toffee, chocolate fudge cake, ice-cream sundae, something really bad for you. Get drunk too if you like (but don't scare Cal). Spend all the money. And after that, when days have gone by, keep an eye out for me. I might write on the steam in the mirror when you're having a bath, or play with the leaves on the apple tree when you're out in the garden. I might slip into a dream. Visit my grave when you can, but don't kick yourself if you can't, or if you move house and it's suddenly too far away. It looks pretty there in the summer (check out the website). You could bring a picnic and sit with me. I'd like that. OK. That's it. I love you. Tessa xxx

Every word I say to you is straight from my heart and soul. I want to start off by saying that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and you look absolutely stunning. I feel like I’m the luckiest man alive to have you in my life, and not just as your best friend, but as your husband. You stole my heart from the moment you turned around and looked at me. The moment I saw your smile, I knew I was done for, and everything I thought I had believed in disappeared. You showed me love, and taught me that it was ok to love someone. We grew together as friends and then as lovers. Now, we will grow together as husband and wife. I promise to love you forever, and to never break your heart. I promise to keep you safe at all times. I promise you a world of happiness and joy, and I promise to take away your pain and sadness. You are my forever,

This is not how you thought it would be. Time has stopped. Nothing feels real. Your mind cannot stop replaying the events, hoping for a different outcome. The ordinary, everyday world that others still inhabit feels coarse and cruel. You can’t eat (or you eat everything). You can’t sleep (or you sleep all the time). Every object in your life becomes an artifact, a symbol of the life that used to be and might have been. There is no place this loss has not touched. In the days and weeks since your loss, you’ve heard all manner of things about your grief: They wouldn’t want you to be sad. Everything happens for a reason. At least you had them as long as you did. You’re strong and smart and resourceful—you’ll get through this! This experience will make you stronger. You can always try again—get another partner, have another child, find some way to channel your pain into something beautiful and useful and good. Platitudes and cheerleading solve nothing. In fact, this kind of support only makes you feel like no one in the world understands. This isn’t a paper cut. It’s not a crisis of confidence. You didn’t need this thing to happen in order to know what’s important, to find your calling, or even to understand that you are, in fact, deeply loved. Telling the truth about grief is the only way forward: your loss is exactly as bad as you think it is. And people, try as they might, really are responding to your loss as poorly as you think they are. You aren’t crazy. Something crazy has happened, and you’re responding as any sane person would.

By simply stating the truth, we open conversations about grief, which are really conversations about love. We start to love one another better. We begin to overhaul the falsely redemptive storyline that has us, as a culture and as individuals, insist that there's a happy ending everywhere if only we look hard enough. We stop blaming each other for our pain, and instead, work together to change what can be changed, and withstand what can't be fixed. We get more comfortable with hearing the truth, even when the truth breaks our hearts.

It's hard to pretend you're OK. Especially when you're all by urself, alone. :'(

Pessimism counterbalances the ridiculously optimistic expectations of the culture we live in and helps us adapt out of the deeply detached, unrealistic perspective that we likely formed as a young child. It reminds us that things won’t always go our way or always be that nice, but rather, things will go wrong a lot, and that, despite this, we can still be ok. Paradoxically, we must recognize that through a certain quality of pessimism, we can better assist a more reasonably optimistic experience of life. We are all struggling and improvising our way through this strange existence, constantly confused and unsure. No one is perfect or normal in any traditional sense. We all make mistakes big and small. No one knows who or why they are. Happiness is hard and unclear. There is greed, tragedy, and malevolence in this world that we have and will continue to experience. And at any moment, this whole world and all of humanity could end for any number of reasons. Yet despite everything that was just said prior, the thought of it all ending should and does make us sad and tremble with fear. We don’t want it to end. In spite of the chaos, uncertainties, and hardships, we want to go on. We want to endure. We want to see what we can do, overcome, and experience in the face of it all. In this, we find the hopeful spirit and strength of humankind. We find optimism in pessimism.

Yesterday, she shed tears, keeping her head on my shoulders. And I think she's not going to be fine because I know she won't. Because a couple of years back, I wasn't. And when you know that you've fallen hard on a cold ground and are still lying there, what do you tell others who are taking the fall? You close your eyes. You accept to lie there a little longer. But I lie on my bed now, and it's a little too warm today.

Crying was a good example of how things had changed in the last few days. She used to beleive that crying provoked consolation from others. Now she knew that crying provoked nothing except the sound of its own sadness.

Emotions are energetic signals of information and I had gone too long trying to ignore my worry, anxiety and lack of self-compassion – they had turned into deep sadness. This was a clear message, telling me that things needed to change.

People say “don’t be sad”. I learned to give my feelings the space they needed. I don’t understand why we are so afraid of feelings. Happy is OK, but sad has to be “addressed”. It must “move on”. It calls for a “solution”. But sad is not a problem.

OK, so this is the story of a Chinese father and son and their best horse. The horse runs away, for no reason, and lives with some nomads across the border. The son is very upset that the horse has gone, and the father says to him, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?" Then the horse comes back, a few months later, with a beautiful nomad stallion. The son is thrilled, but the father says to him, "What makes you so sure this isn't a disaster?" The son loves riding the new horse, but one day falls and breaks his leg. Everyone is sad for him, and his father says, wait for it, "What makes you so sure this isn't a blessing?" At some point the nomads invade, and every able-bodied young man has to go off to battle. The nomads basically wipe out all the men, but the son is safe because he is lame, and so he and his father live on and look after one another.

OK! Let's get started," Mariela announced brightly. "Now, can anyone tell me the meaning of 'tango'--the actual word?" Helen, of course, knew. "In Latin, it means 'I touch." Mariela nodded emphatically. "'I touch.' Or 'I play.' As in playing an instrument only here our instrument is ourselves," Mariela paused, allowing this insight to sink in. "And it means, 'I touch. I touch my partner in embrace," Dan and Mariela faced each other in an opening stance, "also called an abrazo--" and danced a simple eight step. "And I touch my inner life. I touch the core of my essence. Tango is not just learning or following steps." "It's improvisation," Barry said in a deep baritone. "That's right. There's a saying that tango is a 'sad thought danced.' But that's only part of it. It's touching the sadness in you, the pain, yes--but also the joy, the humor, the everything life has. It's touching everything.

Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s only a natural feeling. You’re not the person who discovered that feeling, so don’t go trying to patent it, OK?

And then I went back into my room, locked into a sequence as perfect as a pattern, and I sat down on my great rock throne, invisible to the outside world but palpable beneath me, and from how my face felt I thought maybe I was crying, either because I didn’t want to do this or because I did, it was hard to tell and anyway I never would, who would believe me in either case and who would be there to believe me in all cases, it was a puzzle, I had yet to learn the way of the jigsaw, and so I positioned the rifle beneath my chin, it feels cold, like an actual thing in the actual present physical world, OK, there it is, I am here now, and then I lay down on my belly and listened to the rising squall beyond the door.

One by one, the thoughts and memories of sadness raised their hands, stood up to identify themselves. I looked at each thought, at each unit of sorrow, and I acknowledged its existence and felt (without trying to protect myself from it) its horrible pain. And then I would tell that sorrow, "It's OK. I love you. I accept you. Come into my heart now. It's over."...

There is an advantage, the research shows us, in being op­timistic. People who cope well tend to have an indelible belief that things will somehow turn out OK. They also tend to be confident. They believe that they will be able to exert at least some control over the outcome of even the most difficult life events. This is not to say that optimistic people believe they can undo the past or stop certain things from happening. Sometimes, even the hardiest of individuals are initially stunned after a tragedy. Nonetheless, fueled by their deep-rooted sense that they can and should be able to move on, they manage to gather their strength, regroup, and work toward restoring the balance in their lives. Along with these optimistic, self-confident beliefs, people who cope well also have a broader repertoire of behaviors. Simply put, they seem to have more tools in their toolboxes. One example is how resilient people express emotion. We think that, as a general rule, the more we show what we are feeling, the better off we will be. This is especially true when bad things happen to us, and it is actually a cornerstone of the traditional grief work idea.

I am having nightmares about sitting my exams naked,’ Franz said with an earnest expression as he sat down across from them. ‘Most disturbing.’ ‘If it’s any consolation I have nightmares about Franz sitting exams naked too,’ Shelby whispered to Laura. ‘One’s where I’m sat at the desk right behind his.’ ‘Oh, thanks very much for that mental image. Especially when I’m trying to concentrate,’ Laura said. ‘Thing is,’ Shelby whispered, ‘in the dream he’s really nervous because of the exam and so he’s sweating a lot.’ ‘OK, I am really not listening to you any more,’ Laura said, grimacing. ‘It gets worse because then he . . .’ Shelby leant over and whispered something in Laura’s ear. ‘Is Laura OK?’ Wing asked Otto quietly on the other side of the cluster of desks. ‘She appears to have suddenly gone quite pale.’ Otto looked over at Laura who was now repeatedly hitting Shelby with one of her notepads. Shelby meanwhile was laughing uncontrollably at the look of pure disgust on Laura’s face. ‘Shelby Trinity, there is something seriously wrong with you,’ Laura said, shaking her head. ‘You know, I am thinking Laura is struggling to be coping with the stress of the exams,’ Franz said sadly as he watched Laura rubbing at her temples as if desperately trying to erase something from her brain.

Just tell me the truth. I can take it, OK? I promise, I can. I will listen. I will be calm. I will let you make your case and you have to let me make mine. But if you still want to walk away from me when all that’s said and done, I’ll let you go. And I won’t be mad, or sad, or hold it against you. Because you’re the kind of prince who gives his princess the stars and then types up an instruction manual just to make sure she gets every ounce of joy out of it she can.

Day 8: Go Rollerblading Your job today is not to think. Just be. When you're Rollerblading, you can't think in the conventional way, unless you're a really good Rollerblader. If you're the kind of Rollerbladder I was, all you're thinking is, 'I'm gonna fall I'm gonna fall I'm gonna fall!' This is good. You won't have time to dwell on real or imagined memories, sorrows, or angst. You won't have time to think, 'Oh no, I yelled at my mother the last conversation we ever had.' That's OK. You had no way of knowing it was the last time we'd talk. Feel bad, feel sad, roll on.

...and as he swigged another dose, it just kind of came clear to me that the guy was nothing but sadness, really nothing but that, the weakest link in the Great Chain of Being, and that if when raging he was pathetic then in triumph he was tragic; and it also seemed as if, at some level, the guy knew this, that he also was aware that the whole package he had put together for himself had been misconceived, and that any effort to refashion it would just reconfirm its faultiness; and that the zone he inhabited was one that he himself had built, but as a barrier, of course to prevent the world from getting too close but also to forestall any seepage of self, whose effects on other folks he could too easily foresee; and that the poor loonster had become addicted to the language of communication because he knew that each word showed just how hopeless he was-and that people would sense this, and so would stay even further away ...; the guy, in short, had built himself a quicksand situation, a real no­winner, and I just figured OK: give him what he wants and keep the fuck away; don't only ignore him, but force yourself to forget; acknowledge his desire and leave him to his internal exile...

OK,” he said. “I have a question. I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but if you don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs, what the hell do you do for fun?” “This,” I said. “This.” I understand this question more than i understand most questions about sobriety. I understand it because I know exactly where it comes from and exactly why people ask. And I understand why it seems so incomprehensible. I understand it because it was my question. How do you vacation in Mexico without tequila, eat dinner without wine, brunch without champagne, party without shots? How do you live without the distinct pleasure of being silly drunk? Prior to October 2012, if you would have asked me what sobriety looked like, I would have said something that sounded like a fart noise while pointing two thumbs down. A life without alcohol might as well have been a death sentence of boring. A life half lived, with half smiles, that smelled like Clorox bleach. What I have discovered on this side of the bar scene is the exact opposite. Instead of the boring life I had anticipated before quitting booze, my life without alcohol is where my actual living began. Nothing was as half lived, forced, sad, or redundant as an existence that required alcohol to have fun.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe it was for the best. I tried and I failed. Maybe deep down I didn’t want it enough. Like you said, not everyone does.’ ‘True.’ Eventually she says something. ‘But is that really you talking? Or is it your grief?’ ‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head. ‘And that’s OK,’ she says quietly. I raise my eyes to meet Cricket’s. ‘I’m eighty-one years old and I’ve learned if there’s one gift you can give yourself in life, it’s the freedom and courage to say “I don’t know”. Because I’ll let you into a secret – you don’t have to know. You don’t have to know how you feel, or what you want, or if you’re happy or if you’re sad. Life is full of choices and decisions, and there is so much pressure on us to make all the right ones. But what if we don’t? What if we have doubts and misgivings? What if we make mistakes and contradict ourselves?’ She looks at me, her eyes shining. ‘What if we try our best and fail anyway?’ As her words peg out before me, I think about myself, about everything that’s happened. ‘What then? Should we feel bad about ourselves? Why not just accept that we don’t know? Because if you accept that, my dear girl, it will give you such immense freedom. It will allow you to change your mind, to take a different path, to grab opportunities that come your way that you might never have thought of . . . to be impulsive instead of being stuck, to stop feeling guilty.’ Cricket looks at me, her face imploring. ‘To stop feeling scared.

You are allowed to have struggles. You are allowed to feel broken and too shattered to pick up the pieces. You are allowed to sit in the darkness for a while and not immediately barrel toward the light. You are allowed to not yet be able to see the light. None of this makes you a burden. Life is really hard sometimes. Everyone will struggle at one point or another. We all take turns helping to carry one another's burdens—this is how we survive. It's OK to share your sadness, even if you're sad all the time. Even if your sadness makes others sad. Even if you're difficult to be around. Let others help you. You do not have to hold it alone. You do not have to be your best self to be worthy of care. You do not have to apologize for being a human who takes up space. You are hurting and imperfect and deserving of love.

Now, as they pressured perfect footprints into the snow that had been accumulating all day, his father took Harry's hand. "Heshele, how are you?" "OK, I guess." "Are you very sad?" "I don't know. I know I should be. But what does it mean to be sad?" His father stopped. He cupped his free hand to let the snow gather. It quickly turned from an inviting white coating to black-specked gray water. "Sadness is in my hand. In a second, a thing of beauty becomes dirty water; innocence leaves a child's eyes; he who strived for immortality lies forgotten under weeds. Sad is missing the love that death has sealed in the ground or that life has denied life to." "Then I'm sad. When you took my hand, I remembered how he took my hand when we went to the pier to fish. And I thought: That will never happen again. And then I thought: Up until now I never understood the word never, and there was a lump in my throat.

Meeting the Prince of Wales I’ve known her [the Queen] since I was tiny so it was no big deal. No interest in Andrew and Edward--never thought about Andrew. I kept thinking, ‘Look at the life they have, how awful’ so I remember him coming to Althorp to stay, my husband, and the first impact was ‘God, what a sad man.’ He came with his Labrador. My sister was all over him like a bad rash and I thought, ‘God, he must really hate that.’ I kept out of the way. I remember being a fat, podgy, no make-up, unsmart lady but I made a lot of noise and he liked that and he came up to me after dinner and we had a big dance and he said: ‘Will you show me the gallery?’ and I was just about to show him the gallery and my sister Sarah comes up and tells me to push off and I said ‘At least, let me tell you where the switches are to the gallery because you won’t know where they are,’ and I disappeared. And he was charm himself and when I stood next to him the next day, a 16-year old, for someone like that to show you any attention--I was just so sort of amazed. ‘Why would anyone like him be interested in me?’ and it was interest. That was it for about two years. Saw him off and on with Sarah and Sarah got frightfully excited about the whole thing, then she saw something different happening which I hadn’t twigged on to, i.e. when he had his 30th birthday dance I was asked too. ‘Why is Diana coming as well?’ [my] sister asked. I said: ‘Well, I don’t know but I’d like to come.’ ‘Oh, all right then,’ that sort of thing. Had a very nice time at the dance--fascinating. I wasn’t at all intimidated by the surroundings [Buckingham Palace]. I thought, amazing place. Then I was asked to stay at the de Passes in July 1980 by Philip de Pass who is the son. ‘Would you like to come and stay for a couple of nights down at Petworth because we’ve got the Prince of Wales staying. You’re a young blood, you might amuse him.’ So I said ‘OK.’ So I sat next to him and Charles came in. He was all over me again and it was very strange. I thought ‘Well, this isn’t very cool.’ I thought men were supposed not to be so obvious, I thought this was very odd. The first night we sat down on a bale at the barbecue at this house and he’d just finished with Anna Wallace. I said: ‘You looked so sad when you walked up the aisle at Lord Mountbatten’s funeral.’ I said: ‘It was the most tragic thing I’ve ever seen. My heart bled for you when I watched. I thought, “It’s wrong, you’re lonely--you should be with somebody to look after you.

Meeting the Prince of Wales Then I was asked to stay at the de Passes in July 1980 by Philip de Pass who is the son. ‘Would you like to come and stay for a couple of nights down at Petworth because we’ve got the Prince of Wales staying. You’re a young blood, you might amuse him.’ So I said ‘OK.’ So I sat next to him and Charles came in. He was all over me again and it was very strange. I thought ‘Well, this isn’t very cool.’ I thought men were supposed not to be so obvious, I thought this was very odd. The first night we sat down on a bale at the barbecue at this house and he’d just finished with Anna Wallace. I said: ‘You looked so sad when you walked up the aisle at Lord Mountbatten’s funeral.’ I said: ‘It was the most tragic thing I’ve ever seen. My heart bled for you when I watched. I thought, “It’s wrong, you’re lonely--you should be with somebody to look after you.”’ The next minute he leapt on me practically and I thought this was very strange, too, and I wasn’t quite sure how to cope with all this. Anyway we talked about lots of things and anyway that was it. Frigid wasn’t the word. Big F when it comes to that. He said: ‘You must come to London with me tomorrow. I’ve got to work at Buckingham Palace, you must come to work with me.’ I thought this was too much. I said: ‘No, I can’t.’ I thought ‘How will I explain my presence at Buckingham Palace when I’m supposed to be staying with Philip?’ Then he asked me to Cowes on Britannia and he had lots of older friends there and I was fairly intimidated but they were all over me like a bad rash. I felt very strange about the whole thing, obviously somebody was talking. I came in and out, in and out, then I went to stay with my sister Jane at Balmoral where Robert [Fellowes, Jane’s husband] was assistant private secretary [to the Queen]. I was terrified--shitting bricks. I was frightened because I had never stayed at Balmoral and I wanted to get it right. The anticipation was worse than actually being there. I was all right once I got in through the front door. I had a normal single bed! I have always done my own packing and unpacking--I was always appalled that Prince Charles takes 22 pieces of hand luggage with him. That’s before the other stuff. I have four or five. I felt rather embarrassed. I stayed back at the castle because of the press interest. It was considered a good idea. Mr and Mrs Parker-Bowles were there at all my visits. I was the youngest there by a long way. Charles used to ring me up and say: ‘Would you like to come for a walk, come for a barbecue?’ so I said: ‘Yes, please.’ I thought this was all wonderful.

Crying is therapeutic Most people can relate to the calming and stress reducing effect of a “good cry.” Grieving children should be supported in their need to cry. Unfortunately, children sometimes suppress their tears, thinking that they can control their pain if they control their crying. Parents may find their child’s pain very stressful or threatening and may therefore knowingly or unknowingly suppress natural expressions of grief. They may try to distract the child by promising a treat if he stops crying; cutting the feelings short (“Hush, hush”); minimizing the feelings (“You’re OK now”); contradicting his reality (“You’re going to love it here”); criticizing (“Stop making such a fuss”); embarrassing (“You’re too big to act like such a baby”); or threatening (“Stop it right now or I’ll give you something to cry about”). Crying should be supported with empathy and nurturing. It might be helpful to say something like, “I can tell that you are feeling very bad. Maybe it is because we were just looking at pictures of Nana, and you’re thinking about her now and missing her. Let’s sit here together for a while and I’ll rub your back.” Don’t rush the toddler’s grief before she is ready to let go of it. When the crying has subsided, offer a cold glass of juice or a walk outside. Often, children are more receptive to being cuddled, making eye contact, and other attachment strategies after an episode of acute sadness.

I haven’t been disingenuous in what I’ve said describing my perception of “truth” and “reality.” Certainly, I understand what is generally meant to be the “truth,” I understand this notion, but it’s not something I trust in, OK? The only answer that feels true (I said feels, not is) is that yes, the character Minnie is me, but she is not me. She is a projection of some tumult which originates within me, but she is not me. I use elements of myself, including my likeness, for the character, perhaps as Cindy Sherman uses herself in her work, but like Sherman’s photographs, the work itself is not any more about the creator than it is about everyone. I won’t deny that Minnie does things I have done, and that things happen to her that have happened to me, but she, unlike me, having been created, is who she is and will remain so, unchanged now. I make no attempt to create “documentary.” There is a process of dissociation that takes place when I make a story, I make creative decisions in a fugue state that I could hardly describe to you, but the end result is, I hope, a story with some meaning or resonance, something created, with a beginning, a middle and an end, an encapsulation of feeling and impression, but in no way a documentary of anything other than an “emotional truth.” If I told most interviewers that my work is “true” and that it is based on real events that occurred in my life, they would more readily accept this than they do the explanation I try to give. Sadly, what they would believe feels to me like a lie and a simplification of a process that is for me as complex and vague as life itself…

my reworking of that marvellous list. 1. Live as enjoyably as you can within financial reason. 2. If you have a bath, draw an inch or two of cold water and splash about in it. A cold shower will have the same uplifting effect. 3. Never stay up all night watching Netflix Originals about serial killers. 4. DON’T THINK TOO FAR AHEAD. EVENING IS FINE, BUT TOMORROW CAN LOOK AFTER ITSELF. 5. Keep reasonably busy. 6. See as much as you can of the friends who like you, support you and make you laugh. See as little as you can of the friends who judge you, compare you to others and tire you (and don’t pretend you don’t know who they are). 7. Apply the same rules to casual acquaintances. If your instincts tell you they are toxic, walk away and don’t look back. 8. If you are low in the water, do not pretend that you aren’t. It makes it so much worse, and A STIFF UPPER LIP ONLY GIVES YOU A SORE JAW. 9. Good coffee and tea are a genuine help. 10. DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OR FOR ANY REASON AT ANY TIME COMPARE YOURSELF TO ANYONE ELSE. 11. Cultivate a gentle, healthy pessimism. It can result in more nice surprises. 12. Avoid drama about what is wrong with the world (unless it is funny), emotionally powerful music, other sad people, and anything likely to make you feel anxious or that you are not doing enough. 13. RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS ARE HUMAN ANTIDEPRESSANTS. 14. Form a close bond with a local tree. 15. Make the room you most like sitting in as much of a comfy nest as you can. 16. Listen to David Attenborough. 17. STOP JUDGING YOURSELF. STOP PUNISHING YOURSELF. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. 18. Keep warm. 19. Think as much as you can about space, infinity and the beyond. Anything that much bigger than you can be very relaxing. 20. Trust me.

listen. it wouldn't have hurt so much if she wasn't the girl i always wanted to be. in high school i carved the word ugly into my skin so that even if i once reached that pivotal point of high self esteem i would always be reminded of who i was underneath it all and i wanted so badly to be the athletic girl who put makeup on effortlessly who knew a thing or two about fashion whose laughter sounded like flowers blooming who knew what it meant to be sad, and anxious, but in the beautiful way in the mysterious way in the way that could be cured by true love's kiss whose skin was always soft and hair always brushed - sometimes styled - long, and long, and dark, and wavy a fine contrast against her light eyes and pale skin that never led anyone to question just where she was from whose body hair was fine, or at least taken care of so frequently and expertly, that no one ever questioned just where she fell in human evolution whose body curved in all the right places whose skin was taut with muscle and soft with and inviting where it should be who ate right who never smoked and never tried to end her life; once, twice, seventeen times who liked art but didn't really understand it who studied hard even though she hated it who cared about injustice but not to the point that too much thought would led her to unending, selfish tears whose eyes could stop an army and whose lips never fell into a thin line whose kisses you remember and whose body you miss when you're lying in a bed without her whose warmth you reach out for not just from habit or desire but need - desperate need who didn't make loving her hard who you missed, even when you were with another the girl who everyone knew was beautiful - they just knew, ok. they just knew her name and they would say: 'yes, her. she's very beautiful.' (...) it wouldn't hurt so much if you weren't everything i was looking for, everything i wanted, and so was she

Q. How can I be certain that what I fear will happen will never really happen? A. Sadly, the answer is you can't be certain! If you suffer from OCD you probably want a 100 percent guarantee that you will never do anything dangerous or that no harm will ever come to you or your family members. Unfortunately, life does not work like this. If I think about it, I know that there is no guarantee that I won't be hit by a car coming home from work today - but somehow my brain automatically accepts the very small chance of this happening and so permits me to go on living my life. More than two thousand years ago the Buddha (a great psychologist besides being a religious teacher) warned that one of the key things that makes us suffer is that we always want more than we will actually get - whether what we want is material like gold and jewels, or (my addition) in the case of OCD, more certainty than you will ever achieve. Thus the solution the Buddha might have offered you in northern India those thousands of years ago might have been something like this: "To stop suffering you must learn to accept that you will never achieve as much certainty as you want, no matter how much you pursue it; so it is up to you to choose: Either accept this truth and live your life happily, or fight against this truth and continue to suffer." Let me say it again for emphasis: you will never be certain that you won't act on the urges you have, or that the terrible things you fear will happen will not actually happen - but I can assure you that the odds of these things actually happening are small enough that it is not worth wasting your life trying (in vain) to get 100 percent certainty. Better to trust in yourself, your religious beliefs, or in evolution having prepared us well for surviving in this world. If evidence from brain studies better helps to convince you this is true, brain imaging studies of OCD sufferers now suggest that there really is something wrong with their "certainty system"; whatever automatically lets someone without OCD feel that things are OK does not function correctly in the OCD sufferer's brain (who then tries to convince himself that everything is OK, eventually becoming tired and frustrated when he cannot use other brain functions to achieve 100 percent certainty).

Anyone want to help me start PAPA, Parents for Alternatives to Punishment Association? (There is already a group in England called ‘EPPOCH’ for end physical punishment of children.) In Kohn’s other great book Beyond Discipline: From Compliance to Community, he explains how all punishments, even the sneaky, repackaged, “nice” punishments called logical or natural consequences, destroy any respectful, loving relationship between adult and child and impede the process of ethical development. (Need I mention Enron, Martha Stewart, the Iraqi Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal or certain car repairmen?) Any type of coercion, whether it is the seduction of rewards or the humiliation of punishment, creates a tear in the fabric of relational connection between adults and children. Then adults become simply dispensers of goodies and authoritarian dispensers of controlling punishments. The atmosphere of fear and scarcity grows as the sense of connectedness that fosters true and generous cooperation, giving from the heart, withers. Using punishments and rewards is like drinking salt water. It does create a short-term relief, but long-term it makes matters worse. This desert of emotional connectedness is fertile ground for acting-out to get attention. Punishment is a use of force, in the negative sense of that word, not an expression of true power or strength. David R. Hawkins, M.D., Ph.D. author of the book Power v. Force writes “force is the universal substitute for truth. The need to control others stems from lack of power, just as vanity stems from lack of self-esteem. Punishment is a form of violence, an ineffective substitute for power. Sadly though parents are afraid not to hit and punish their children for fear they will turn out to be bank robbers. But the truth may well be the opposite. Research shows that virtually all felony offenders were harshly punished as children. Besides children learn thru modeling. Punishment models the tactic of deliberately creating pain for another to get something you want to happen. Punishment does not teach children to care about how their actions might create pain for another, it teaches them it is ok to create pain for another if you have the power to get away with it. Basically might makes right. Punishment gets children to focus on themselves and what is happening to them instead of developing empathy for how their behavior affects another. Creating

Never run away from your problems they say They say never run away from your problems just face them and they will make you stronger. I beg to differ, first of all never run from anything or anyone. There will be a time that you will have to make a choice do I stay and make a go of this or do I walk away with my head held high and never look back. There will also be that time when someone actions leave you with no choice but to back away from them, you don’t hate them you are not mad at them you love them enough to know its better to walk away. Somethings will never ever go back to the ways they were and that’s ok. There is that time that you dig in and make whatever it is you involved in work. So that statement ‘never run away from your problems just face them and they will make you stronger.” does not apply all the time. Every situation is unique in its own right. If it’s meant to be it will no matter what. If it is not meant to be that will become apparent. Never forget the experiences life has taught you and never stop learning life is terrific one minute and sad and hurtful the next minute but be thankful you are alive to still experience Life.

He then offered to meet me the next day, at a friend’s apartment in Lahore, to give me the iPhone and have tea. No, I said. I was going to Faridkot. Sharif finally came to the point. “Kim. I am sorry I was not able to find you a friend. I tried, but I failed.” He shook his head, looked genuinely sad about the failure of the project. “That’s OK,” I said. “Really. I don’t really want a friend right now. I am perfectly happy without a friend. I want to be friendless.” He paused. And then, finally, the tiger of Punjab pounced. “I would like to be your friend.” I didn’t even let him get the words out. “No. Absolutely not. Not going to happen.

Well, your mom is right, sort of. Boys are mean sometimes when they like a girl, but they are also nice when they like a girl, too." "So you like my momma? That's why you're so nice to her?" she asked nonchalantly. "I do like your momma. Is that ok?" "Yeah, totally! Maybe you should be mean to her," she mused and threw another grape into the air, catching it easily, "then I bet she'd really like you." "Maybe," Bish told her with a sad smile. It seems to be working so well for her. I jumped out of Bish's mind and looked for Caleb. We needed to show everyone the visions I'd had. We had to put an end to this once and

the comforting thing about feeling lonely is that everything that has ever existed also knows what loneliness feels like too. you may be sad because you are sad. it is ok to be sad. but if you are sad because happiness is fleeting, just remember that sadness is also fleeting too.

Simon Helberg: I remember when Kaley was getting her star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and she said, “This is like the second time in my life I’ve ever been nervous.” I thought she was kidding, but no. I say that not in a disparaging way, but I couldn’t be more jealous. Everybody has a very different go of it, but it’s important to tell yourself that you’re going to be OK even with so much changing around you. In the end, I’m happy I was able to find ways of bettering myself and could enjoy the experience more. But I really didn’t know how to deal with a lot of that anxiety except by pacing. No joke, I don’t think I sat down in my dressing room for the first nine years of the show. Anyone who would ever walk by would say it was like one of those sad little dogs that is just tracking a strange little pattern in the grass where they’re pacing and you’re like, Why is there no grass growing there?

There are times when I feel trapped. Nothing is wrong; nothing has happened; everything is OK; nevertheless, all of a sudden, I feel as though I cannot continue. I occasionally have excitement, but it soon fades. Sherifa finally spoke, expressing her emotions. "I know I'm not by myself, I won't hurt myself, and I know I have friends who care about me, but sometimes I just can't!" Sherifa carried on with her confession. "That's OK, we don't always understand why we experience particular feelings, but it's normal to feel that way. In response, Robbie encircled her in her arms. "To feel this way is not acceptable... I feel out of the ordinary and burdensome. Sherifa gave a reply. “You're not a burden, though. Sincerely, you are my Moonlight.” Robbie admits her emotions. "Moonlight?" Sherifa softly retaliated. "You don't have to be normal, that's for sure. I don't care if you're average; I adore how odd you are. It's acceptable to feel how you do! Your emotions are genuine!" Robbie began to shout louder. "You don't have to feel this way by yourself. Although I am aware that I can never really comprehend how you feel, I promise to be there for you in your time of need." Robbie spoke plainly and out loud. "I'm grateful," Sherifa happily accepted this and gave her a hug in return. At that moment, she was ecstatic.

We’ve got a medical model in Western culture that says that death is failure. We’ve got a psychological model that says anything other than a stable baseline of “happy” is an aberration. Illness, sadness, pain, death, grief—they’re all seen as problems in need of solutions. How can you possibly be expected to handle grief with any skill when all of our models show the wrong approach? Grief is not a problem. It doesn’t need solutions.

It’s OK to be angry at your body – you didn’t sign up to these new terms and conditions – and it’s OK to feel sad when you see someone doing all the things you used to do but now can’t

i'm lonely, i'm tired, i'm sad, i'm happy, i'm lucky, i'm unlucky, i'm a million different things everyday of the week. But i suppose OK is one of them

That there is no consequence to massacring foreigners, our criminal rulers have long known, but they also know that when Pentagon guns are turned on Americans, a good portion of the world will break out in cheers, just as we've whooped and hollered as our tax-paid munitions splattered their loved ones. When blood darkens our streets, our victims will dance in theirs, no doubt, so why are our transfat asses still parked at this sad cul-de-sac as that day of reckoning looms? When you're broke, though, it's hard to move a mile, much less out of the country, so many of us will simply escape into our private universe, inside our various screens, and ignore, as best we can, an increasingly ugly reality. Moreover, some still believe there is no serious decline, while others that a unified fight is possible. For the most hopeless, there is always suicide. This month, a thirty-year-old Bensalem man and his fifty-nine-year-old mother attempted, it appears, a suicide pact by breathing toxic fumes from a borrowed generator. Only she died, however, so now he's charged with her murder. Neighbors said they had fallen on hard times and "had nothing left". Not that long ago, it was highly unusual to have young adults living with their parents, but not anymore. As this trend continues, many Americans will know exactly one house their whole lives, but at least they'll still have a home. Should you be homeless in greater Philadelphia, there is one place you can have a private bed and bathroom for a few hours, at minimal cost. Keep this information in mind, for you might need it. At Bensalem's Neshaminy Inn, you'll only have to cough up $34, including tax, if you check in after 7 a.m. and leave by 4 p.m. This will give you plenty of time to refresh yourself or even have sex, with or without a (paid) partner, many of whom routinely patrol the hallways. Dozing before dark will also spare you from the worst of the bedbugs, and don't even think of complaining about heroin addicts' bloodstains on the walls, no sheet on your bed or used condoms beneath it. You didn't pay much, OK?

For instance, is fear ever a legitimate response to crisis? Is there any truth at all to fear? In my experience, fear is an Ego feeling out of control. In times of true crisis, there’s no time for fear, only action. It’s only thinking about it afterwards or anticipating it, that we feel fear. Also, one of the qualities of being in the presence of truth is its accompanying energy of fearlessness. Are fear, gloom and doom, attempting to control, empowered responses? As the world heats up literally and figuratively, it’s time to learn how to better handle our emotional energies during times of crisis and change. In my experience, most of our emotional responses to crisis is not usually about the event, but another one. This applies to collective events, where I consistently witness people going into fear and “concern” spirals for days on end. Ditto for building stories about “dark times”. I expect this will make me unpopular, but here goes: If you’re having an emotion about a catastrophe that lasts longer than a few minutes, and you’re not bringing food and supplies, or in it, it’s probably about something else. Either conditioning you’ve inherited from the collective, like a Pavlovian response that says “okay, when this type of event happens we get sad/fearful/despairing/bitter. Ok, now go!,” or it’s a deeper wound of your own being triggered, or you’re not grounded and centered in your own energy. If it’s not happening to you, it’s not personal. It is what is. Don’t generate more Ego energy for the collective by dwelling in disaster. Either find a way to help, pitch in if that’s your thing, or connect with your light. Either benefit all. For the Empaths who feel everything, I love what Martha Beck says. When she witnesses someone going through something tough, to avoid taking it on, in a nutshell she says, ‘This is their journey. I’ll have my time to go through xyz, but now is not my time. Everyone gets their time.’ Don’t worry, you’ll have your time to feel your own personal crisis or tragedy. Won’t you want people who are strong in their light around? Joining in with another’s or the world’s misery helps no one. It only creates more fear and misery. If you’re not baking someone a cake, better to ground, root and center. Take a walk in nature. Listen to uplifting music. Focus on your furthering your calling. The fact is: the more focus we place on external events, feeding them with fearful thoughts and “concern”, the more distracted we become from our internal reality, where, with awareness, we can liberate our self -which benefits everyone. Once we stop the fear and warring within our selves we are able to be inspired and take action from a place of grace, not from absorbing external fear energies or being mired in our own wounding. When we run on old fear conditioning- that it’s a dangerous, scary world; we’re ill-equipped for survival; we’re weak and can’t change; other people are doing this horrible thing to us- we are not only denying our light so weakening our selves, but we are not being honest. We are powerful. We are eternal. We are in charge of our experience. When we own our light it benefits everyone.

and carefree. It is so good to have Greg back with us again, breathing the salty air, experiencing the breeze on his face. We spend at least an hour on that beach. Almost back at the car, Greg stops at a wooden bench that looks out onto the strand. ‘Let’s sit for a while.’ My stomach tightens. Greg settles at one end of the bench, Toby on his lap, Rachel next to them. I’m at the other. Bookends. ‘Guys,’ Greg says. ‘I want to explain why I’m in hospital.’ ‘It’s OK, Dad. We know,’ says Toby. ‘You’re exhausted.’ ‘Well, it’s a little more than that.’ He takes a breath. ‘I have a sickness that makes me sad sometimes. Other times it makes me very excited.’ They take time to digest that. Toby is first to speak. ‘But it’s OK to be sad, Dad. You said.’ He looks at Greg for confirmation. ‘I did. And it’s OK to cry when something happens to make you sad.’ ‘Yeah, you’re always telling us that.’ ‘It’s just that if there’s no reason to be sad and you’re sad anyway – all the time – well, that’s not good, is it?’ Toby shakes his head wildly. ‘No, that’d be…sad.’ ‘And not good,’ says Greg. ‘No,’ agrees Toby. Rachel’s quiet. Taking it all in. ‘And it’s OK to get excited too,’ continues Greg. ‘Lots of things are exciting…’ ‘Like Christmas and birthdays and fireworks and when you get onto the next level in a game.’ ‘Exactly.’ Greg smiles. ‘But being hyper isn’t good.’ ‘No.’ Toby shakes his head again. ‘When you have Coke or Skittles or something you get hyper. And that’s not good ‘cause you go bananas. Isn’t that right, Dad?’ ‘Yes, son.’ Greg kisses the top of his head. ‘But you eventually go back to normal, don’t you?’ ‘Yeah.’ Rachel, eyes fixed on her father, is oblivious to the breeze whipping her hair across her face. ‘Well,’ says Greg. ‘I have a sickness that makes me hyper for weeks. And that’s not good.’ ‘No.’ Toby squints. ‘Why not, again?’ ‘Well, it can make me do silly things, and can make

Yes, I just…” Should I be honest and sound like a complete loser? Oh why the hell not? “I have not had a kiss like that in a while.” I licked my lips. He looked me dead in the eye. “Good.” A wave of silence crashed over us. I didn’t know what to say to that. “Well, I better get going. See you soon?” I nodded dumbly. “Mmm-hmm.” He smiled and began to walk away. I couldn’t just let him go! “Declan!” He turned. “Yes, Cake?” Come on, brain! Think of something! “What should I wear? I mean, what kind of place is Shellshock?” Yes, yes, that was fine… damage averted. “California casual.” “Oh, ok.” I think I knew what that meant. Spend three hours getting ready to make it look like you just threw any-ol’-thing on. “Have a nice night.” He flicked his head my way. “You too.” Then he was gone. And then I was sad. It was ridiculous. Preposterous, even. I was going to have to come clean about the ring- eventually. I hoped he didn’t bring it up because I would probably tell the poor guy my life story to get to why the ring he bought meant so much to me.

Her mind empty of all but the moment, she concentrated on the fleeting feel of soil and plant fibre between her toes. Gone were the things she could not explain, the cares and exasperations of her parents she could not kiss or hug away. Out here everything was all right. It would all be ok. Whatever made the worry lines on her Daddy's brow, whatever peopled the silences where they did not speak, to her or each other, but just stared, sadly but with a love so clear and strong, it physically hurt.

It is ok to be sad. If we never felt sad, how would we know what it was like to feel happy

Simply being aware of your emotions—and labeling your feelings as sad, happy, or anxious—can help you realize that your self-doubt may be irrational. Learning to say to yourself, “OK, I’m feeling anxious right now so I might be underestimating myself,” or “I’m sad today so I might be overestimating how painful rejection will feel,” could help you gain a more realistic perspective.

The town is attracting a whole load of yobs who just want to roam around picking fights and getting into trouble. I’m not surprised Russell’s dad was really worried about him being out late.’ ‘Russell can look after himself, Dad. He’s not some sad little wimp.’ ‘He could be Mr Muscles Macho Man. It wouldn’t make any difference if a whole gang started in on him.’ ‘You’re getting totally paranoid, Dad.’ ‘Maybe. I don’t know. But how about if you and Russell met up after school and then he went back home around nine?’ ‘Dad! We’re not Eggs’s age!’ ‘I know, I know – but you’re as precious to me as Eggs and I don’t need another night like Thursday. Look, you’re still supposed to be in the doghouse for that. I’ll let you see Russell, but I’m going to stick to this nine o’clock curfew for the time being. I think that’s more than fair.’ ‘I don’t!’ ‘Well it gets dark by nine – so you couldn’t do any sketching then, could you?’ says Dad, smiling. I smile back weakly. I don’t know who’s bluffing who. But at least I can see Russell – even if it’s only in daylight! I go up to my bedroom and read his letter again. Several times more. Then I go downstairs and ring Nadine and tell her that it’s all OK and that Russell walked round and round the town looking for me, practically knocking at every house door. Nadine isn’t quite as impressed as I’d hoped. She’s got her Claudie album playing full blast (her family are obviously out) and she’s singing along instead of concentrating fully. I need to ask her something. ‘Nadine, do you really think Russell looks seriously shifty?’ Nadine herself sounds as if she’s doing some serious shifting the other end of the phone. ‘No, no, Ellie, not at all. I was just, you know, saying stuff to comfort you. I don’t think his eyes are too close together either. I think it was just his intense expression when he was sketching you.

... I give only two suggestions. The first is to see things to be just what they are, because that is how the vastness is always seeing things. Thoughts are thoughts. Emotions are emotions. The body is just the body. Its the mind's interpretation of things that ends up creating suffering - the sense that there is a problem, that fear or anger or sadness means there's something wrong with me, that certain emotions or experiences have to be eliminated for me to be OK, that something needs to be practiced or achieved in order to become the infinite. The mind is constantly interpreting in this way, while the vastness just looks around and sees that things are just what they are. The second suggestion, which is actually a nonsuggestion, is to follow the obvious, because that is how the mysterious doer behind everyone's life is constantly revealing the truth of each moment. Now I'm not saying you need to figure out what the obvious is and then follow it. The mind doesn't usually perceive the obvious, and it tends to devalue what it can't perceive. Take the expression "it's just too obvious", for example. It's not complicated or painful enough. The mind is drawn to complexity and struggle. That's the sphere of the mind.

This is exactly the bike that I wanted. It's the perfect present. But there are other things that I wished for even harder than I did for this bike, and I know I won't get them, no matter what. Important things, like wishing that Lolo wasn't sick and that everything could stay the same. Then again, staying the same means that Tia Ines might not have the chance to love Simon. It means Roli wouldn't go to college and get even smarter. It means that I wouldn't group up at all. Staying the same could be just as sad as Lolo changing. I don't know what is going to happen next year, no one does. But that's OK. I can handle it, I decide. It's just a harder gear, and I am ready. All I have to do is take a deep breath and ride.

The first one was wearing a kind of ancient Tyrolean (?) hat whose ragged edges were maybe an inch wide; the second had a straw hat that looked like an open snuffbox with a broken cover. The Agitated on the right had an evil laugh that bared his stumps of tarnished nuggets; the Agitated on the left foamed with rage. The laugher started dancing, doing somersaults and dancing again, like a circus ballerina; then he jumped up and down, tirelessly, saying “Opa! Opa!” and guffawing. He smiled less and looked satisfied, almost happy. He obviously thought he was funny and was playing nice, but all of a sudden, he started yelling, rolling on the ground and jumping back up. He kept yelling and jumping and then finally fell down on the floor of his cage and wiggled around in a kind of epileptic fit. After maybe 20 seconds, he got up and started dancing; and the whole time he was scratching himself and smiling absent-mindedly. The furious one climbed the bars of the window, tried to spit on us, shook the bars, moaned and groaned and his eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He tore at his rags, scratched his face until it bled, howled and cried in frustration—at not being able to bite us, to wring our necks and tear off our skin. He aimed his claws at us; he choked; his face turned purple, almost black! “OK, Leonard! Now I’ve had enough of looking at these monsters! They’re hurting me. Not to mention that us being here is not good for them. These crises must wear them out. When they’re alone. they can hide in the corner, curl up and go to sleep, or whatever, but they’ll calm down. I’m getting out of here!” “Good! Good! Let’s go,” my guardian said very seriously. “They’re very gentle, almost proper. It’s the others I don’t wanna show you, no matter what Bid’homme says. The others, ah! They’re nightmares! If there’s any like them outside of here, they’re only found in jars—and drowned in alcohol—again!” Just then two young, buxom nurses passed by us. The two sad anthropoids whinnied—literally—like horses and threw themselves against the bars—then tore off some of their clothes, seized by an exhibitionist rage, and slobbered and roared. The nurses ran away and Leonard finally agreed to get away from the awful scene—so sad that it was almost not disgusting.

when I feel that unrelenting, overwhelming wave of sadness, and I am being driven insane or feeling much too sane … I think of these little things that I love: everyone, the things that hurt me, the busy, beautiful motion of you and me somehow going through our lives,

Once upon a time, somewhere miles and miles beneath the surface of the ocean, there lived a young octopus named Nina. Nina spent most of her time alone making strange creations out of rocks and shells. And she was very happy. But then on Monday the shark showed up. “What’s your name?” said the shark. “Nina,” she replied. “Do you want to be my friend?” he asked. “OK. What do I have to do?” said Nina. “Not much,” said the shark, “just let me eat one of your arms.” Nina had never had a friend before, so she wondered if this was what you had to do to get one. She looked down at her eight arms and decided it wouldn’t be so bad to give up one. So she donated an arm to her wonderful new friend. Every day that week, Nina and the shark would play together. They explored caves, built castles of sand, and swam really, really fast. And every night the shark would be hungry, and Nina would give him another one of her arms to eat. On Sunday, after playing all day, the shark told Nina that he was very hungry. “I don’t understand,” she said, "I’ve already given you six of my arms, and now you want one more?” The shark looked at her with a friendly smile and said, “I don’t want one. This time I want them all.” “But why?” Nina asked. And the shark replied, “Because that’s what friends are for.” When the shark finished his meal, he felt very sad and lonely. He missed having someone to explore caves, build castles, and swim really, really fast with. He missed Nina very much. So he swam away to find another friend.

It is ok to stop wanting the people you wanted once. Specially when you know that neither you, nor they, are still the same.

I want you to know something, Louisiana. We all, at some point, have to decide who we want to be in this world. It is a decision we make for ourselves. You are being forced to make this decision at an early age, but that does not mean that you cannot do it well and wisely. I believe you can. I have great faith in you. You decide. You decide who you are, Louisiana. Do you understand?" I told him that I did understand. Even though I wasn't certain that I did. "And another thing," he said. "You will never understand why your parents left you in that alley. It is impossible to understand. But it may be necessary for you to forgive them, for your own sake, without ever truly understanding what they did. OK?" His face was so serious and sad that I said, "Yes, Reverend Obertask. I understand." But I didn't understand. How could I forgive people who had never shown me any kindness? How could I forgive people who had left me behind without loving me at all? And so it came to pass that I found myself sitting at the end of a long driveway in front of a pink house that smelled like cake, thinking about forgiveness and who I wanted to be in this world.

When my mom is feeling sad she likes to look at beautiful things like sunsets. She says that seeing the sky full of different colors reminds her that the world is big and beautiful and that her problems will all be ok. Sometimes though a person can’t go and look at a sunset because its the wrong time of day. That’s why people have art. Art is like a sunset you can look at anytime you need to.

The Mountain If the mountain seems too big today Then climb a hill instead If the morning brings you sadness It’s ok to stay in bed If the day ahead weighs heavy And your plans feel like a curse There’s no shame in rearranging Don’t make yourself feel worse If a shower stings like needles And a bath feels like you’ll drown If you haven’t washed your hair for days Don’t throw away your crown A day is not a lifetime A rest is not defeat Don’t think of it as failure Just a quiet kind retreat The mountain will still be there When you want to try again You can climb it in your own time Just love yourself ‘til then.

The thing is, people think the whole point of grief is to get out of it as quickly as possible. As if grief were some strange thing, some bizarre, and incorrect, response to someone (or something) you love being torn from your life. Grief gets a narrow window to be expressed. After that, you are expected to return to normal, carrying with you the gifts you’ve learned from the experience. You’re supposed to become wiser, more compassionate, and truly understand what’s important. Staying sad means you’re not doing it right.

Do normal people do this...? Do they get happy and sad at different times? I could be ok one day and then not the next day. It's like everything is so bright and dark at the same time. Isn't that strange?

Grief gets a narrow window to be expressed. After that, you are expected to return to normal, carrying with you the gifts you’ve learned from the experience. You’re supposed to become wiser, more compassionate, and truly understand what’s important. Staying sad means you’re not doing it right.